Sorry! I haven't updates in a while. It has been sooooooooooooooooo busy lately and my birthday's coming up too so it's been very hectic.

This chapter is dedicated to the people who've had the patience of waiting for me to update.

Although I have to say that I don't know when the next time I will update so SORRY in advanced!!!

Chapter 5

He waited. After a few seconds, he heard a sound, a soft rustle of clothing. The door opened a crack. Mikan peered out.

"I think it would be best if I went home now."

Natsume's smile tilted. "How are you going to manage that, Sparrow? Do you have a toboggan parked outside?"

She opened the door wider and stepped into the hall. Natsume's heart did that funny upside down thing in his chest again. Her new hairdo was a mess, her lip gloss was all kissed off and the artfully applied mascara had dried into raccoon like smudges under her teary eyes.

She was beautiful.

"Just look at you," he said gruffly. He took a step forward, gently dried her tears with his thumbs. "You've ruined all that goo that woman spent hours putting on your face."

"It wasn't goo," she said, sniffling a little but managed to sound defiant anyway, "and she spent two minutes."

Natsume took her hand. "Come sit by the fire with me."

"I'd really like to go home."

"Yeah, well, you can't."

He led her into the living room. What he really wanted was to pull her into his arms, kiss her until she trembled and begged him to make love to her again, but he wouldn't do it. This was the time for seduction. Yeah, he'd seduce her. Slowly. Tenderly. Until she was on fire for him, the way he was on fire for her.

He sat down on the sofa, tried to pull her into his lap, but she wouldn't let him.

"I'd rather sit in the chair."

"How am I going to kiss you if I'm sitting here and you're sitting in the chair?"

"Natsume. You said you'd teach me…things. And you have. You already—"

He tugged harder. She tumbled into his lap and he silenced her with a kiss. His mouth was warm; the tip of his tongue teased her lips. She swayed towards him, moaned, then pulled back.

"No," she said, a little breathlessly, "once was enough. Honestly, Natsume—"

"Honestly, Sparrow," he whispered, as his hands spanned her waist, "once is never enough."

"It is. It was. And then there's our supper. The sauce and pasta…"

"To hell with supper," Natsume said in a husky whisper that made her breath quicken. "Kiss me, Mikan."

When she didn't, he kissed her, instead, and slipped his tongue into her mouth. The heat of it, the taste of him, made her dizzy.

"Natsume." She leaned her forehead against his. "Natsume, stop. You make me feel—you make me feel—"

"What? Tell me. I want to know." His hands cupped her face, tilted it to his. "I want to know what you like. What things you want me to do."

Everything, she thought, oh, Natsume, everything.

"This?" he said, and kissed her again. "And this?" he whispered, and cupped her breasts in his hands. "This, too," he murmured, and ran his thumbs over her nipples. "Ah, Sparrow, Sparrow, I want you so badly…"

Mikan moaned, put her arms around Natsume's neck and kissed him. she wanted him, too. Wanted his mouth, his hands, his body. Wanted his soul, and his heart.

Suddenly, she tore her mouth from his. "No," she gasped, and scrambled to her feet, but Natsume went after her, put his arms around her, drew her back against his chest.

"Yes," he whispered, and buried his face in the soft, sweet place where her neck and shoulder joined.

She fell back against him, lifted her arm and lay her hand against his cheek. Her fingers skimmed across his lips. He caught them, sucked them into the heat of his mouth as he undid the zipper that ran down the back of her dress. He wrapped a handful of her hair around his fist, dragged it aside and kissed the nape of her neck.

Her skin was like silk. He wanted to tear the dress away, feast on her with all his senses. Instead, he eased the dress to her waist and covered her breasts with his hands, teased the crests with his thumbs, felt her tremble, shudder, felt his body turning into steel.

"Do you like that?" he whispered.

Mikan's breath caught. "Yes. Oh, yes. I—I—"

He turned her in his arms, took her mouth with his, nipped at her bottom lip until her mouth opened and he could slip his tongue inside. She trembled, pressed herself against him, and he shuddered with almost savage exaltation.

She was his. His, and no other man's. She had never belonged to anyone else and she never…

His mind whirled, teetered on the brink of a dangerous chasm. But Mikan was holding him, kissing him, whispering his name and he couldn't think, couldn't do anything but feel.

He kissed her, hard, tilted her head back as he took possession of her mouth. The dress tore under his hands as he slid down her body. It was pooled at her feet and he saw Mikan, his Mikan, for the very first time.

She was every dream he'd ever had, and every hope. Her body was slender, her curves feminine, her skin flushed with desire. She was wearing lace. White lace. Bra, tiny panties, stockings that ended at her thighs. White, all of it, as soft and pure as the snow.

But her boots were black. Black as midnight, black as sin, tight, sleek and high on her legs. Natsume shuddered again, knotted his hands, and swore to himself that he would make this second time perfect.

He bent to her and put his mouth against hers, holding her captive only with his kiss. Then he knelt and eased the boots from her feet, one at a time, pausing to kiss her ankle, her arch. He heard her make a whispered sound, felt the brush of her hand against his hair as he rose and he paused at the junctions of her thighs, told himself again to go slow, not to frighten her…

"Mikan," he whispered, and his hands closed around the backs of her thighs as he pressed his face against the white lace panties.

Her cry of pleasure was almost his undoing. He could feel the heat, the dampness of her through the lace; the woman-scent of her arousal was perfume to his soul. His sparrow was trembling with desire and it was all for him.

For him, he thought, and he stood straight and gathered her into his arms.

"You're beautiful," he said softly, "so beautiful that you make my heart stop."

She looked at him through those wide, dark eyes. "You are, too. I never knew a man could be beautiful, Natsume."

"Do you want to see more of me, Sparrow?"

The tip of her tongue snaked across her bottom lip. "Yes," she said. "Yes, please."

Eyes locked to hers, Natsume unbuttoned his shirt. It fell open and Mikan's breath hitched. It was true. He was beautiful. All that taut muscle. The tanned skin.

She reached out a hand, hesitated, started to pull it back but Natsume clasped her wrist, put her palm flat against his chest. He caught his breath; she gave a little hum of pleasure. His skin felt hot, his body hard. Without thinking, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to the strong column of his throat.

Natsume trembled. "Oh Lord, Mikan," he whispered, and for the first time in her life, she knew what it meant to have a man want her. No. not just a man. Natsume. Natsume, who she…

She jerked back, would have spun away, but he caught her shoulders, pulled her close and kissed her. There was nothing gentle about the kiss. His mouth was rough and demanding, the stroke of his tongue possessive, and Mikan let it happen, the feeling that her bones were melting, that Natsume was taking her, claiming her, that he was marking her as his own…

That she loved him.

She loved Natsume Hyuuga. She loved everything about him his beautiful face. His powerful body. His intelligence, his humor, his hot temper and now, his heart-stopping passion.

No. No! She didn't want to love Natsume. She didn't want to love any man, especially not who was everything she'd sworn to avoid, everything her sisters had foolishly thought fascinating. Natsume was too handsome, too macho, too reckless, too restless…

Mikan caught her breath.

It was too late for thought or for regrets. Natsume was touching her. Opening her bra. Claiming her breasts as they tumbled into his waiting hands. Sucking her nipples. Licking them while he eased her panties down her hips, down her legs.

She cried out, clasped Natsume's shoulders for support. He said her name, tore off his clothes, swept her into his arms and took her down with him, in front of the fire.

"Natsume," she said, her voice trembling with emotion, her hands clasping his face.

"Don't be afraid, Mikan." He whispered.

She wasn't afraid. Not of Natsume. She was afraid of what she felt, what she wanted, what she could never have.

"Please," she said, "Natsume, please."

Mikan opened her arms. Natsume groaned, parted her thighs and sank deep, deep, deep into softness. The sweet softness that belonged only to him.

The softness of Mikan.

To be continued… although I don't know when.